


I Thought You Loved Me

by Sherlock1110



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-11 20:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7905760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock shoots someone, the 'inevitable' according to Donovan has happened how will everyone react?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not had a great week, so felt like angst

Sherlock stood over the body of the man he had just shot in the head. He was youngish, but had aged quickly, his arrogance had also grown with age.

“Sherlock…” John ran around the corner as the man fell to the ground. “What did you do?” He snatched his SIG from the frozen detective's hands and checked it over. He slipped it back into his waistband, aware armed officers weren't far behind him. Then he knelt down and felt for a pulse. He didn't find one, but with a bullet to his head he hadn't really expected to.

4 armed officers swiftly charged around the corner and into the alley. They saw the man on the ground and lunged for Sherlock, leaping to conclusions, the right ones this time, the detective realised. He did do this…

The men had a silent agreement on who would do what and they soon had him thrown over and into the wall, 2 men shortly ramming his arms up his back. It helped to ease his fighting a lot.

“Sherlock?” Greg came racing up, delayed by bad driving. “What's going on?” He took the scene in quickly, not fully coming to terms with what he saw.

They'd forced the detective onto his knees, his hands were now cuffed behind him and John stood staring into space, his hands balled into fists. The blond looked lost.

“John?” He tried shaking him and he jerked alert, his fist rising.

He sighed in relief when he saw who it was. “Greg. Thank god,” his gaze moved to Sherlock. “He shot him, Greg. He wasn't even armed.”

The DI looked around trying to understand whatever it was he had missed.

“There's got to be some explanation,” he decided. “Some reasoning behind it.”

“Was there?” the doctor yelled down at the struggling detective. He couldn't believe it. Everything… everything he thought he knew of his boyfriend was wrong. He was the killer Donovan had told him he was. He felt like such a fool.

Sherlock's head snapped up at John's tone and he saw the look of such disappointment on his face. He sagged in the men's grip. He hated that look, it was worse than the 'a bit not good look'. He felt like crying.

“This was in cold blood!” The doctor spat. “Fuck it all! Greg, take him to the station, fling him in a cell, whatever, just protect the public from him.” With that, John took off up the track.

“John!” The DI yelled after him, half expecting Sherlock to yell with him. This couldn't be it, surely, but the younger man didn't turn, didn't acknowledge that he had spoken at all, just kept walking. He turned back on the kneeling Holmes. His head was low and the fight had gone out of him.

“Let's get you to the Yard, then, Sherlock, and we'll see about fixing this. I'll phone your brother, he'll know what to do.”

The simple fact Sherlock didn't try and argue against Mycroft's involvement as he began to read him his rights, surprised him. It meant there was something seriously wrong. Something more serious than the fact he was in the middle of being arrested for murder.

Greg couldn't bear to let anyone else sit beside Sherlock, he felt he could protect him better next to him. Not that anyone seemed to be bothered, Donovan was away at a conference, but thinking about it, Greg realised that she might come back just to gloat.

“Mitchell, drive,” he ordered, slipping into the back seat beside Sherlock.

“Yes, sir,” a man that looked older than Greg climbed into the driver's seat.

Mitchell was a good man, despite numerous offers of promotion, he'd turned them all down. The senior ranked man knew he could trust his discretion.

Greg also knew it was a bit naughty, but he had wanted to test a theory. He wanted Sherlock to deduce someone, see what he could work out. Mitchell was the most obvious, but there was only silence.

It didn't happen, Sherlock had his head resting on the seat back in front of him, his cuffed wrists twisted at uncomfortable angles. He stared at the floor only moving enough to keep himself upright where he sat as they moved.

Greg sighed, this was bad. He needed John, Sherlock needed John. This was more than bad.

***

The Detective Inspector phoned Mycroft when they had reached the Yard and Sherlock had been booked into custody; left in a cell. Alone.

It didn't take long for the government official to join him in his office. He hugged Mycroft close, reflecting on how much of a mess the whole situation was. And how much Mycroft could now fix it.

“Where's Doctor Watson?”

“Don't quote me on this, but I'm pretty sure he just dumped Sherlock. He ran off at the crime scene and has been ignoring my calls and messages since.”

“I'll have my men pick him up. They can see what's going on.” He stepped back and flicked through the case files they had been working on.

“Take me to my brother, then,” he ordered after a while. He had been enjoying just the presence of Greg's company despite nothing but carnage going on around them.

The DI nodded and pushed himself to his feet. He led Mycroft to the cells.

Sherlock was hunched over in his, sat on the bunk, leaning against the wall.

Mycroft looked him up and down through the cell door, once, twice, three times before sighing. He let his head thunk against the cell door.

He stayed there unmoving until Greg cleared his throat. “You can go in. You're the British Government, I can hardly stop you.”

“No need.” Mycroft straightened and tapped his umbrella on the floor. “He did it.” With that, he too, like John, just walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

3 days had passed and Greg was no closer to getting Sherlock off the murder charge. He'd managed to persuade the superintendent to allow Sherlock to stay in the cells rather than be moved to the local prison, but he wasn't helping himself. He didn't speak, he didn't eat, he barely slept, he just did nothing, all day everyday staring at the same four walls without one declaration of 'bored'.

“You alright, 'Lock?” Greg asked from the door to Sherlock's cell. He had hoped the man would get bail, but on a murder charge, he knew it would never happen. Especially since the man had basically handed himself over without remorse.

The detective's head snapped up. He had actually sat up today, his breakfast untouched on the tray next to him.

He handed him a mug of tea, surprised, but glad when he took it.

“What's going to happen to me?” He asked, his voice barley above a croak from disuse. Not seeing Sherlock speaking was weird. Horribly so.

“I'm really trying, but honestly I'm struggling to find anything that would help.” He pushed the tray to the side and sat next to him. “Why did you do it? There has go be a reason.”

“Why does there?” He asked the question like he honestly didn't know the answer.

“You're a bloody genius. You've always got a reason. Always,” he repeated quietly.

“Well the reason clearly doesn't give a shit anymore.”

Greg froze. “Self defence? He was unarmed, Sherlock. John's gun was the only one there.” He had checked the other man himself.

The detective refused to speak anymore. He'd already said too much. Far, far too much.

The DI noticed him shutting down again and sighed. “At least, drink the tea,” he stood up and walked towards the door. He was surprised he had managed to get that much out of him.

The walk to his office was depressing, but after talking to Sherlock and getting more than 2 words out of him in days he knew exactly what he needed to do.

He snatched his car keys off the desk and headed towards his car. He needed to see the crime scene for himself, when it was quiet and not surrounded by coppers and also not just from the crime scene photos. Yes, they were detailed, but Sherlock always said it himself, they always missed something.

He drove in silence pondering what Sherlock meant. He didn't just speak. He had a reason behind everything. Every action, every word… just like Mycroft. He thought of how the elder Holmes had just walked out of the station like that. He hadn't spoken to his boyfriend since, he was kind of mad at him.

A buzz on his phone made him pull over to answer. He hoped it was Mycroft… changing his mind, or even John.

“Sally?”

The sergeant laughed in response. “Your pet is on his way to court, sorry, boss, but it's absolutely hilarious. He pleaded guilty in the back of the van. It was the only thing he said, but he said it a lot.”

“Bollocks!” Greg hissed as he smacked the steering wheel.

“I thought maybe you might want to meet us there?” She sounded smug. Too bloody smug. What was her problem with the younger man? He had never done anything evil, he just couldn't always hold his tongue when it was best.

With that she rang off. He was glad, he didn't get the chance to say something he knew he would regret.

Greg got caught in so much traffic by the time he reached court, due to the guilty plea the judge was done with Sherlock.

Sally stood at the door to the court, waiting. “Pentonville prison,” she grinned. “He'll be on remand until his full trial in a few months.”

“And you will be transferred,” Greg spat at her, now he didn't care if he regretted it, she was out of order.

That wiped the smirk off her face. “But, gov-”

“Shut up, Sally.”

***

He marched into Mycroft's office at the club making sure to produce as much noise as possible. He got looks and glares, but he didn't care. The more shit Mycroft got for it the better.

“You are unbloody believable!” The door hit the wall as he slammed it back.

“Gregory-” the government official's head snapped up to see his boyfriend stood there looking fierce. It was rarely ever aimed at him. He didn't like it aimed at him.

“Shut up!” He snapped. “You waited until I was gone to get Sherlock to court.” It hadn't taken much to work it out. Too much time spent with Sherlock, no doubt. “Not only did you not help him, you fucking forced it through!” Greg was furious with him. This was not a game!

“I was only-”

“Shut it!” He repeated. “You don't get to make excuses! He's your brother, the bloody baby brother who you would do anything for. The baby brother who willingly went with Donovan, the woman who does not have a nice bone in her body! He willingly pleaded guilty without defending himself, to not give you any trouble!” That bit was a lie, but if it made the British Government feel guilty, he didn't care. “You told me when we first met nothing would come in front of him. You would do anything to protect him-”

“Greg-”

“No! No, we are through. That's it. We're over! You won't protect him, fine. But I will. I choose him! Something I never would have expected myself to do. I didn't know you could be pathetic, Mycroft Holmes, but the time he needed you the most, you let him down. That's something I can't forgive.”

With that he put his foot through the door and stormed out. Pleased for leaving a hole in the wood.

Mycroft stared blankly after him, feeling rather ashamed.


	3. Chapter 3

Greg headed straight from the Diogenes to the crime scene.

Mycroft Holmes would not stop him from sorting this. He would get Sherlock out. Whatever it took.

But as he looked around, he began to realise there was nothing he could find. If there was nothing there to find, he wouldn't be able to find it.

Sherlock's skills of deduction clearly hadn't rubbed off on him. The grass was just grass, the fence was just a fence. He sighed and decided he'd leave the car where it was and walk home, the pub was on that way.

The fast-aging DI was climbing the small bank at the end of the alley when something black caught his eye. He scooped it up with a pair of gloves and examined it, to the side was a set of AA batteries a few inches apart.

***

It took weeks for Sherlock to accept the DI's visiting request.

As Greg sat down opposite the ex-detective, he noticed how odd he looked in just a pair of jeans and a jumper. He missed the tight fitting suit and too small shirts. “How you doing?” He asked because Sherlock didn't speak and there was nothing else he could say.

Sherlock looked around nervously, his gaze clocking one of the other men on remand. “Fine,” he responded.

“Not bored?”

Sherlock looked down. Yes, he was bored, of course he was, stuck in a 7x6 on his own for 18 hours a day was rather boring, but he didn't really care. “Why did you want to see me? The letters have been annoying.”

“Because I've found something.”

Sherlock stood, he couldn't believe this! He had been comfortable in his cell. “That's it!”

“Holmes!” Came a yell from the corner. “Sit.”

Sherlock glanced at the prison officer before taking his seat again. It wouldn't do to start a riot, he was in enough trouble.

As he leant forward to pull his chair back Greg noticed the bruising on his temple. Somebody had clocked him, hard by the looks of it. His knuckles were perfectly normal and white; he hadn't retaliated. Bollocks, Greg growled to himself. This was Mycroft's fault, if he wasn't sat so far up on his high horse, Sherlock would at least be out on bail. He wouldn't be beaten up.

“Who did that?” Greg asked, jerking his head towards where his hair had fallen forward to hide it again.

“It doesn't matter. I had it coming.”

No, no, no! This wasn't right. This wasn't Sherlock.

“Did you tell the guards?” He tried, having a horrible feeling he already knew the answer.

He barked a laugh at that, “Like they care. They just stand and glare and laugh.”

“You mean-”

“Look, Lestrade. I've looked after myself for many years. I'm sure I can manage a while longer.” He wanted to stand up again; walk away, but the guards would never let him and they had reason enough to hate him.

“Your brother and I forced you into rehab when you were 19, you couldn't look after yourself them and you can't look after yourself now.”

His brother being brought up instantly made him worry. “Is Mycroft alright?”

That grabbed the DI's attention and caught him by surprise. “He's fine.” At least he assumed he was. It also helped to press his suspicions on what the hell was going on. “But who clocked you? I can help, Sherlock.”

“No, you can't.” He looked highly doubtful of Greg's offer, like he didn't believe him.

“I'm a senior officer at New Scotland Yard. I can help and I will. You're my friend, Sherlock.”

“A lot of men in here are men I have put in here. Did you really expect it to be easy?”

Sighing, the DI pushed his jacket aside and reached into his pocket. He pulled out the items he had picked up on the bank what felt like months ago, they were sealed in a clear bag marked 'evidence'.

Sherlock's eyes widened at the sight of it. Shock a definite emotion showing on his face. “Where did you get that?”

“Crime scene.”

“No, you didn't,” he countered immediately.

All Sherlock's arguing did was prove to Greg how right he was, but he needed more than that.

“No, I had to scale the fence and climb a grass bank. It must have flown up there, how, I wonder?” It was an obvious attempt to extract an explanation.

Sherlock stared at his hands that were in his lap. “You don't understand.”

“Was it just Mycroft or John as well?”

The younger man's head jerked up. “Both,” he whispered. “And you. And Mrs. Hudson. I couldn't let him do it. I could never let him do it.”

“What did you do, Sherlock?” The DI asked softly, worrying about his friend.

“I shot him.” Sherlock didn't answer like he would have done months ago, like the answer should have been obvious, so what was the point of asking the question in the first place.

“I know that, tell me the part I don't know. I'm pretty sure I've got it all figured out, but I want you to say it.”

“John dropped back after we reached that weird wall on the east side of town, but I knew I could catch him. So I ran. I caught up with him in that alley.” He reached over and placed his hand on the bag. “He was holding that, but it was together at the time. He said it had a timer on it. Moriarty had worked with him. Like before, like the rooftop. But this time he knew about Mycroft in a way he hadn't done before. I had 15 seconds to do something or the four of you would die.”

“So you shot him?”

Sherlock nodded. “I grabbed the remote before it could fall to the ground and I pulled the batteries free.”

“How did it end up over the fence?”

“I threw it. I panicked, I guess. I separated the parts and threw them. Then I realised exactly what I had done, then John showed up. Then you lot. He didn't give me a chance to explain.”

“I did.”

He sighed. “What would have been the point? Mycroft clearly doesn't care, if he did, I would be out on bail at the very least. And even if I did tell you about the trigger, I didn't know where it had gone. Where I had thrown it. I was too…”

“Shocked at the last 5 minutes, I imagine.”

The ex-detective dropped his head. “I couldn't prove it because I had been too damn lost in my head to remember anything useful.”

“Well,” Greg stood up. “I'm going straight to the Superintendent at the Yard and you'll be going home. Tonight hopefully.”

“No. I won't admit that again. You're the only one who knows at the moment. I can't tell.”

“Yes,” the DI pulled his phone from his pocket that had recorded the entire conversation. “And now everyone else is going to know it too.”


	4. Chapter 4

It took Greg days to see any of his seniors he thought might listen. None of them did. Some of them surprised him, by not even knowing Sherlock and still saying no. So he was sat in his office staring at the ceiling. This was getting on to be impossible.

His only idea was a crazy one but it was literally that, a lone thought in his path to save Sherlock. Since no one else even cared.

Greg waited in the interview room inside Pentonville. He had lied about an extra charge on Sherlock in order to get an interview with him.

He sat on one of the plastic seats when the door opened. For some unknown reason Sherlock was dragging in, his hands cuffed behind him.

“Apparently he's got nothing to say,” one of the guards that were holding him said.

“So you forced him.”

“Of course.”

The DI grinned, hoping it looked real. “Nice one. Make him sit.”

Sherlock fought against them again. There was more fight in him now then there was the last time Greg had spoke to the younger man.

“Holmes!” Greg yelled. “Sit. Down.”

The detective ceased his fighting with the two guards and collapsed into the chair on the opposite side of the table. He pointedly ignored the three of them. The DI was sure if he looked up at him he'd be able to deduce instantly what was going on.

“You guys can go,” Greg ordered.

With a nod at one another the two guards left with nowhere near enough of questioning as to why he wanted to be alone with the 'murderer'.

“What the hell, Sherlock?” The DI slammed his hands down on the table, so hard he made his palms throb. He didn't get a response, the other man just stared at the gap between his hands.

Greg sat down and looked at Sherlock. “There's another bruise. Who did it this time?”

“Does it matter?” From that alone the DI could tell it was one of those guards; no doubt one of them had had a run in with Sherlock's deductions. And yet, the mood Sherlock was in there was no way he would have wound them up. No way he would have provoked them or even said anything to them.

“Did you resist them when they opened your cell?”

“They cuffed me didn't they?”

Greg growled. “I can bloody well see that! Did you resist?”

“No,” he whispered. “There was no point.”

“Well, you're hurrying out of here now, whether you want to or not.”

“I can't.” He eyed the DI up and down. “No one believed you.” That hadn't been the conclusion of his deductions he wanted Sherlock to reach.

Grumbling to himself Greg got to his feet and yanked Sherlock up by the arm.

“What-”

“Shut up,” the older man ordered. “Do not say a word until I tell you to.”

He swung the door in and dragged the detective out, as roughly as he could without hurting him. One of the guards stood there waiting, he grinned.

“He refuses to talk until he's been to the toilet.”

“I can-”

“No. It's fine. I'll deal with him. But first I need the keys to the cuffs.” He had one hand in his pocket resting on his warrant card incase it was needed again, but the guard shrugged and headed off in the other direction. It was clear he wasn't needed with Holmes.

Greg continued to drag Sherlock to the toilets he had checked out on the way in and he had had the perfect response from the guards. Both had gone. He liked to think his word would always be taken over a prison guard. Especially if they were responsible for Sherlock's face.

The DI checked that each cubical was empty before leaning back against the door so no one could come in. “Climb out of the window,” he ordered Sherlock, while uncuffing him. He slipped the cuffs into his pockets.

“What?”

“Now, Sherlock!”

The detective froze, and looked the older man up and down. “You'd risk your job over me?”

“Get out of that window Sherlock or I can make this a hell of a lot worse.”

Rubbing his wrists briefly, Sherlock eyed the window that was being pointed at.

“Go straight to that warehouse where those two children were found a few years ago. And make sure you make it obvious your prints are on the window but nowhere else.”

“Why are you doing this?” He asked.

Greg sighed. “Because you're my friend. And everyone else seems to think you did this. I know different. Now get out. I'll give you as long as I can before I raise the alarm.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter but a chapter all the same

“A shadow and sweet wrappers. That's how you found them.”

Sherlock looked up as the DI walked into the factory. The older man had his hands in his pockets and had been watching the detective closely from the shadows.

“Why did you want to meet me here?”

“Deduce it, Sherlock.” The DI waited for some abusive, demeaning comeback, but there wasn't one.

Plan B, Greg held out a pack of cigarettes. “We deserve one, don't you think?”

The detective stared at the packet. “Why? You arrested me because of this. Because I found those kids. You arrested John too. We had to go on the run to stop anymore people from dying!”

Greg flinched. “Do you think I don't bloody well know that?”

When there was no response coming he continued.

“Why do you think it was me that cautioned you, Sherlock? For kicks? To spite you? To spite your brother? I did it because if Donovan did she would have given you hell. And John… well, he punched my boss in the face, he kind of had it coming.”

“Yeah.” At Greg's mention of John, Sherlock looked away. This was too much. He prided himself on not needing anyone. On being independent and stronger on his own. But right now, he missed the doctor and didn't know whether he hated his brother. Greg, on the other hand… “Why you though?”

“I know you, Sherlock. I've known you many years. I believed in you, I knew you hadn't killed that man for no reason. You may be rude and abrupt most of the time, but you don't do it on purpose and you certainly aren't evil.”

“What about John? How is he?”

“To be honest, I'm a little pissed off with him. Him and your brother. So since that day I haven't seen him.”

“Him? You've seen Mycroft, then?”

“Yeah. I need to get you to him as soon as possible. He's so going to get earache from me after he knows everything.”

He pressed a cigarette into Sherlock's fingers and pulled up his lighter.

“By all means blame Mycroft for this.” The DI raised his own to his lips along with the lighter

***

“Gregory-” Mycroft cut off as Sherlock was dragged in behind him. He wasn't outrightly protesting, but he wasn't making it any easier either.

“What the- he was in Pentonville!”

“No shit, Mycroft.”

“Then how-”

“I broke him out!” Greg snapped. “As you can see, he took a few beatings inside. Because of you!”

Sherlock's face looked worse here than it had in the factory. Here, there was enough light to illuminate every bruise and change of colour in Sherlock's usually pale face.

“This is hardly my fault. I should phone-”

“Shut up!” Greg barked. “Tell him, Sherlock.”

The detective didn't know what to say. He couldn't-

The DI pulled his phone from his pocket and slammed it on Mycroft's desk.

He pushed play and it repeated back the conversation the two younger men had had a few days previous. The conversation no one had listened to.

Mycroft listened, reluctantly at first l, but then his name was mentioned… and everything was explained.

The next thing Greg pulled from his pocket was the evidence bag, in it; the remote and batteries.

“Yes, I found these at the crime scene. Which forensics clearly overlooked!”

Mycroft examined them through the bag. He frowned, annoyed at not being able to deduce what it was immediately. “What is it for?”

“I didn't stick around to find out!” Sherlock snapped.

“You killed that man for this?”

“He didn't do it for that!” Greg snapped. “He did it for you. For you and me and John and Martha.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully one last chapter after this one. Enjoy!

“We need to go to John.”

“No we don't,” Sherlock countered. He glanced at his brother. “I need you to understand Mycroft, please. I didn't kill that man for fun. I did it for you. I couldn't take the chance of it being a hoax. Tell me you believe me. I know I did wrong, but I had no idea where John was, I couldn't let him do anything.”

Mycroft stared at the floor. He couldn't believe this… his little brother… he should have been there, he should have defended him. And now… he was uncharacteristically begging for his support, the support of his older brother, the support which should have been there no matter what.

The detective sighed. “I guess I should hand myself back in then.” He glanced at the DI. “Thanks for trying, Greg.” With that he headed to the door.

Greg watched gobsmacked. He was going to hand himself back in? And did he actually call him Greg? That hardly ever happened and when it did it was an accident.

“Sherlock, wait!” Mycroft called after him, hastily, he'd been stuck in his head. “I do believe you.”

“You just don't believe in me.” That one word meant all the difference. And the three men knew that.

'I didn't believe you cared,' the government official thought to himself as he stood up, walked around his desk and stopped in front of it. “Oh Sherlock.” He had seriously messed up. He had let Sherlock down, the one thing he promised himself and his little brother would never happen.

The detective paused where he was and slowly began to turn around. His disbelief of the government official was clear in his face.

“I… Mycie, I didn't-”

“Come here,” Mycroft held his arms up, his impassive no-nonsense evaporating to be replaced by the big brother he had meant to and should have been.

Greg had never seen anything so surprising in all his life. Sherlock ran the few metres to his brother and barrelled into him so hard that the older man had to step back and into the desk to support himself, all the while holding him tightly.

“I've messed up, Sherlock. I'm so sorry.”

“Isn't it me who's messed up?”

Mycroft let go of his brother to hold him at arms length. He took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. “No. No, little brother. You were protecting the people you care about. You did right. You had no alternative.”

He glanced over at the DI. “Gregory… I don't know what to say.”

“Don't say anything. I'll get us some drinks.”

Mycroft didn't know if that was good or bad. He was leaving the room, maybe it was to give them time together or maybe it was to leave and not come back. He didn't think it was the latter. He wouldn't abandon Sherlock now, not when he was the only one that believed in him.

Sherlock was staring off into the distance, something was clearly entertaining him on the bookshelf.

“Sherlock?”

Nothing.

“'Lock?”

Still nothing, he wasn't being ignored, he just wasn't being heard.

“SHERLOCK!”

The detective flinched, then blinked stupidly at his brother.

“Mycroft?”

“Yes. You were stuck in your head. Why don't you take a seat?”

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Yeah. Yes, ok. “He looked around for a seat and collapsed in the nearest one.

When Greg returned with a tray with mugs on it, Sherlock stood up to take it off him.

At Mycroft's concerned frown, he paused. Helping someone with tea was definitely not Sherlock.

“You are aware, the police are likely to be around soon?” Mycroft questioned of the other two men.

Sherlock bowed his head. So much for Mycroft believing him. Greg spotted it and growled low in his throat.

“Mycroft! This is your fault. If you had just listened or even spoken to him when he was in that cel,l you would have known the truth. You'll sort this out or I might have something to say to the local media regarding certain activities up here.”

“Are you blackmailing me, Gregory?” Mycroft was astonished. He hadn't expected that.

“Not at all,” the greying haired man replied. “I'm making a promise. Fix this for your baby brother, or I will.”

***

6 hours later, Mycroft had spoken to everyone that he needed to and the charges had miraculously disappeared.

The Chief Superintendent at the Yard had been the one to arrive at Mycroft's phone call.

“If you arrest my little brother again, I'll have no choice but to assume it's police harassment. And if I ever find him looking like that,” he indicated the bruises on Sherlock's face, “when he has been around one of your officers I will make a complaint to the Commissioner who, as you can probably deduce, is a much respected personal friend of mine.”

The Chief Superintendent swallowed difficultly around the lump in his throat.

“Are we clear on that?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Holmes. Quite clear.”

Mycroft glanced pointedly at his little brother who was sat beside Greg.

Swallowing his pride, the eldest man turned to look at Sherlock on his second encounter with the youngest Holmes. “My apologies, Mr. Holmes, it was our mistake. Self defence will likely be the result from the CPS.”

“No,” Mycroft interrupted. “It will be the result from the CPS or I'll be having words there as well. Now, you owe my brother a great deal of gratitude for not pursuing this further. A number of high standard cases are in order to get him through the ordeal.”

“Of course,” he agreed quickly. He remembered just a few years ago having a disciplinary matter with the man sat on the sofa beside the consulting detective for that very reason. But there was nothing he could do about that.

“I also believe a promotion is in order for the good Detective Inspector.”

At that, Greg's eyes widened.

“He has gone through many channels to try and secure my brother an innocent verdict and has been ignored at every stage. I believe he also needs some encouragement to not pursue negligence.”

The man sat opposite the British Government nodded anxiously. Then pushed himself to his feet. He held his hand out, and Mycroft took it, squeezing it none too gently. “You'll have all that done by the end of tomorrow.”

The Chief Superintendent nodded as he grabbed his jacket and headed from the room.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is then! An Extra long chapter for the end!!

John sighed. He sat in Baker Street, in his usual arm chair. The place was quiet without Sherlock, in fact it was more than that, it was boring!

He reached over for the remote and flicked the TV on. Of course it would be the news. Well what world war three actions had appeared today?

_“Onto the local news now and the popular crime detective, Sherlock Holmes has been cleared of all charges, it was the second time in as many years Mr. Holmes has been taking part in questioning. Detective Chief Inspector Gregory Lestrade, had this to say.”_

John saw Greg on the telly, Greg, one of his best mates… and since when was he no longer DI? And Sherlock… innocent? Not a murderer… but the body, the gun.

He pushed himself to his feet, fishing his shoes out from beneath the coffee table.

_“I would like to make it quite clear, Mr. Holmes, was arrested due to a suspicious death, he has been released without charge and a number of precautions have taken place to…”_

John didn't hear any more of what the DI… no DCI had to say. He grabbed his coat from the hook and was out of the door.

***

“Are you going to eat, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked from the doorway.

His baby brother had moved back in the night before and things had been going rather smoothly. For Sherlock, at least.

It was the first time since he and Gregory had turned up a few days before that he had been left alone with his brother for more than 5 minutes. Greg had been keeping a rather close eye on him. Not that he could blame his… boyfriend? Was that still happening? He hoped so.

He'd gone out for the press conference and had made a promise that he would be gone for no longer than an hour.

Sherlock was poking pieces of toast around his plate with his knife.

“I'm not hungry.”

Mycroft sighed. “You hardly ate at all yesterday.” He wandered into the room, collecting coffee from the pot as he passed it. Then he took his seat opposite his brother.

“I just don't feel like eating.”

“Are you worrying about something?”

“No,” but his brother's voice was far too quick and sharp. “Sorry,” he whispered.

Now an apology…

“What if no one believes Greg? I've been up on charges before. Serious charges. Moriarty had the whole world convinced.”

“And it took a few weeks for people to realise it was all a farce.”

“Too long.”

“There's evidence to back up your version of events this time Sherlock.”

“Greg only stuck by me because he felt guilty from before.”

“How'd you-”

“When he helped me out of Pentonville he told me where to meet him. The sweet factory. Where we found those kids. Shortly after he arrested me.”

“Gregory has talked me through-”

“I know why he did it! I didn't know… but his reasons make sense. For him. He did this out of guilt.”

“He did this because _I_ didn't!” Mycroft snapped. Then he took a deep breath, this was not Sherlock's fault. Sherlock was the _victim_ in this, not the suspect. “I should have been there. At the very least I should have heard your version of events. Why didn't you say anything Sherlock?” His baby brother keeping his mouth shut had come as a shock, especially now he pretty much knew everything else.

“You didn't see the way John looked at me. I saw it in his face. He believed 100% that I shot that man in cold blood. Then he just walked away. What would have been the point? Nothing matters if John doesn't believe me. And then you…”

Mycroft sighed. Before he had a chance to open his mouth again the front door slammed shut.

For some reason, as soon as Sherlock heard the newly promoted DCI's footsteps approach the kitchen, he pushed his seat back and ran to him.

“Sherlock?” Greg questioned as the younger man wrapped his arms around him. “Mate? Are you ok?” He looked over to the older Holmes who shrugged in reply.

“Alright,” Greg took him by the shoulders at the first opportunity and held him back at arms length. “What was all that about?”

“You believed in me. I thought it was because you felt guilty about before… Mycroft… he helped me to clarify things.”

Greg let out a nervous chuckle. “God, you had me worried there, mate.”

Sherlock's grin turned shy and he stepped back, putting more of a space between them.

A knock on the door interrupted them again.

“I'll get it. You drink your tea.”

Sherlock nodded and went to sit back down opposite his brother. Mycroft didn't speak for which he was grateful.

Voices carried in from the hall and Sherlock was suddenly alert again.

“I really think you should leave-”

“I know he's here. Sherlock?! Sherlock, I need to talk to you!”

Panicked, the detective looked up towards his brother, like he was unsure what to do.

“Whatever you want to do, Sherlock. I'll be here.”

 _I'll be here_ … He didn't quite know how to take it… his brother had said that to him before.

“I don't need the drugs, Mycroft.”

“Baby brother, I know.” Mycroft needed to reassure the younger man before something else got in the way of it. “Of course I know.”

Sherlock stood up and walked through to the front door.

He made sure Greg was between him and John, but didn't know why he took that precaution.

“Sherlock! Thank god,” then he caught a look at his face properly and saw the cut and bruises. “Who did that?”

Sherlock pushed his hands into his trousers and stared at the floor. “Does it matter?”

“Well… yeah. Greg will you get out of my way?” He tried pushing through, but the DCI wouldn't let him.

“Haven't you done enough damage? You know you're the reason we didn't find this out about Sherlock from the start!”

John froze. “What?”

“You took off before you heard his reason. The evidence was there! If you had heard him explain, we would have found it! He was saving. Your. Life.” He thudded John in the chest with his finger.

The doctor glared the DCI down, but he wouldn't back off, going so far as to step a few inches closer instead.

It quickly escalated. Within seconds, John's fist had flown, clocking Greg square in the jaw.

Greg returned the punch, but John was ready, he blocked it easily, and shoved him back.

Before Sherlock really understood, fists from both sides were flying.

“Mycroft!” He yelled, running forward and trying to grab John's flailing, lunging arms.

The government official quickly joined the trio and set about pulling the DCI away from John.

The blond's temper was still sky rocketing when his elbow accidentally clocked Sherlock in the nose and he stopped dead.

“Sherlock, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean…”

The detective stumbled back and touched his nose with his finger to feel blood dripping free.

“It's fine.”

“No, it's not. I hurt you.” John moved to tip his chin back, but Sherlock flinched.

“Sherlock…”

“It's fine,” he repeated before backing up and heading through the door to the kitchen.

“Alright! Alright, Mycroft! Get off of me.”

Greg's chest was heaving and he stood, shoulders square, fists clenched. John tried to go after the detective, but Greg blocked his way.

“Greg, move. I won't hesitate to hit you again.”

“Try it, Doctor Watson,” Mycroft threatened. “You're well aware what I will do to you.”

John stood there, breathing heavily himself and then he fell back against the wall. He sunk down to the floor and wrapped his arms around his knees.

Mycroft let out a sigh of relief, before turning on his heel to find his brother.

Sherlock was sat at the table, he'd pushed his plate away and had his head buried in his arms on the table.

As he approached he heard Sherlock sniffle and he felt himself pause. Yes he had seen Sherlock like this before. But the last time wasn't happy memories… the drugs, the rehab, the withdrawals. Sherlock had been an emotional wreck. And anything before that, he had been a child.

He crept up behind him and let his hand fall to the back of his neck where he rubbed his hand there soothingly. Was that the right thing to do?

“I don't blame him,” Sherlock said after a while.

Mycroft encouraged him to sit upright when he realised his brother had been ignoring his bleeding nose. He used his collar to pull Sherlock to his feet and pushed over the sink.

“Lean your head back, pinch your nose.”

“No,” he murmured dopily, trying to sit down again.

Mycroft held him up against the unit. “If you don't hold your nose, you can bloody well go to hospital.”

“Boring,” he moaned.

Cautiously, John appeared in the doorway, surprised at the trail of blood from the table to the sink.

The doctor held his hand up in Greg's direction holding him back for a moment. For now at least, his temper had died down.

He stepped forward, towards Sherlock, aware of Mycroft's warning presence just beside him.

“You need to pinch the top of your nose, 'Lock,” John offered softly. “It'll stop it bleeding all over the kitchen.”

To Mycroft's surprise Sherlock raised his hand and pinched his nose.

“Good, tip your head back a bit and it should stop. Have you got any painkillers?” He asked the government official tentatively.

He clearly realised that John hadn't really done any worse than he himself had, he deserved a second chance like the one Sherlock had given him.

“I'll leave you two to talk, I'm in the next room if you need me, Sherlock,” Mycroft offered softly, pushing the painkillers into his hand. Then he took Greg's hand and tugged him to the door.

***

“What's going on with us, Gregory?”

The DCI looked up from where he was sat in the office opposite Mycroft. Both men were working.

“What do you mean?”

“Us. The relationship.”

“I don't know. I still love you, if that's what you mean.”

The government official fell silent. That was more than he had expected.

“I know I let Sherlock down.”

“Yes. You did.”

“But I'm going to fix it.”

Greg sighed and put his pen down. “I know.”

***

“Sherlock, I've got this all wrong, haven't I?”

The bleeding from his nose had finally stopped so the detective had sat back down while John insisted on cleaning up.

“You mean I'm not a murderer? I'd say you were pretty wrong, yeah.”

John took a deep breath, “I deserved that.”

“I'm sorry,” Sherlock offered, feeling immediately guilty.

That made the doctor pause where he was with the cloth and face him properly. He closed the gap quickly and cupped his cheek. “Sherlock, no. No. Don't ever apologise. Not to me. Not after what I did to you.”

***

Many hours later the four of them sat around the fire.

The government official's appearance was, for once, a little shabby after proceedings in the study. Now Greg sat beside him, still watching Sherlock every now and then to check he was ok.

The youngest of the four was laid out on the sofa, his head in John's lap as the doctor ran his hand through his hair.

“I know this is going to take time, Sherlock,” John offered slowly. “But I'm willing to do all that I can to make it up to you.”

Sherlock nodded his head, but that was the extent of his reply.

Everything was silent again while the fire crackled to itself. Eventually John tried to talk to him again only to find him asleep on his lap.

“Who did that to his face?” He used the opportunity to check out the bruising.

Greg's glowering had eased off and he sighed. “He didn't need to make enemies in prison. They were made long before he got there.”

“Well they're enemies of me now.”


End file.
